


You

by buffering



Category: Original Work
Genre: But whatever, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I was in a mood, projecting (sorta), so I wrote this, thanks insomnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffering/pseuds/buffering
Summary: You are the girl that wishes.OR the one where I try to sort through myself.





	You

**Author's Note:**

> So! I wrote this at some obscene time at night because I couldn't sleep and I needed to get this off my chest. I don't even know why I'm posting it, but whatever. ~Enjoy!~

* * *

 

You are the girl that wishes. Wishes for better, family and body and health and emotions and understanding and support and things. You’ve always been wishing (just ask the Moon). You’re a dreamer, a believer, a doer, a creator. You dream of better, talents and skills and aspirations. You believe (sometimes), in yourself and others. You do what you say, trust is the vein connecting your brain with your heart. You create and build and make, stories and pictures and photos and words and languages and happiness and sadness.

 

You are the girl that falls asleep at 11 pm while reading fanfic on her computer, only to wake up an hour later extremely confused. You hate falling asleep in the middle of nowhere, vulnerability and lack of control. You always wake up confused, what day or time is it, where am I now? You’re always the one that’s awake last, unable to open until everyone else has because then it’s safe.

 

You are the girl who has so much inside but barely shows any of it; all the colours, the reds and blues and yellows and oranges and pinks and greens, never dance or glimmer on your face made of stone, pale and white as marble. You want to show but you’ve forgotten how, sad soft music as a thunderstorm racks your heart. You’re an explosion inside, a geode with a million glitters inside but showing nothing on the outside.

 

You are the girl that lets herself lose. You know that’s a harsh way of putting it, a wrong way of putting it, but you feel it’s true. You lose to dark, to murk, to smoke, to fog, to emptiness. You let yourself be carved out, slowly chipped away at by a chisel, a sculpture who was meant to be a real person. You fight sometimes, sigh other times, wave the white flag stained with blood others. You try, hard hard hard but it’s usually never enough to win completely. You always leave losing something, a smile or a memory or a fluttering heart.

 

You are the girl standing on melting ice. You see through it, the darkness and cold and empty beneath your feet. You know what’s happening, the slipping down the rope, the tightening of the embrace, but what can you do?

 

You are the girl who used to sing. You used to dance, dresses and skirts twirling. You used to not notice the eyes, whispers and voices all echoing loud even when there’s silence. You would break most of what you touched, crayons and Barbies and cars and pages. You would hate the piles in your room but not mind them all at once, push and pull, black and white.

 

You are the girl who wears something worn, borrowed, stolen, used. Your jeans are ripped, black and skinny and tight. Your boots are broken, holes along the sides and bottoms. Your shirts are old, faded away like the glory of a long-dead hero. Your jacket is well-loved, roughened in all the right places and soft in the forgotten ones.

 

You are the girl in front of me.

 

You are me.


End file.
